Echoes in the Force
by The Moonless Night
Summary: All of creation echoes through the Force, if one is trained to hear it. When Kanan is taken by the Inquisitor, the chord between master and padawan plays loudest of all. How will Ezra handle the bitter sound?... This will hopefully become a collection of one-shots based in the Rebels universe. Until then, please enjoy the super short story.
1. Echoes in the Force

Moonlessnight: Despite my long absence, I am not dead. I am just dreadfully busy. Not too busy, however, to catch this new gem of a show on the television. I just caught up to the most current episode and felt this little bit needed to be written after work...and chores...and life in general took time. So, while this little story is short, at least it made it to the page. Hopefully, I will have some more one-shots to add to this section soon. If time permits anyway... Until then, please enjoy this for what it is.

* * *

**Echoes in the Force**

Taken.

Kanan had been taken by the Inquisitor.

Ezra still reeled from the shock. He still felt the deck roll beneath his feet like that first jerking jolt away from the radio tower, right before Hera sealed the hatch. Just so, Ezra kept his hand against the wall as he slowly made his way to his shared bunk for the night. Just like the night before…and the night before that... and the night before that. No one knew for certain where the Empire had taken Kanan.

Gritting his teeth, the teen turned orphan once again wondered for the hundredth time why Kanan stayed behind. Hera could have made a low sweep in the Ghost. A quick Force-fueled jump and he would have been safe. Instead…well.

Ezra missed a step, leaning into the wall as his other hand shot up to his head. "Not again," he muttered through clenched teeth. He placed one foot in front of the other, placing his feet with deliberate care as the world shifted around him. One door splattered in paint for Sabine, and a hallway that stretched on like the deserts of Tatooine. Ezra cracked an eye open as the door slid aside, tensing his legs to dodge whatever wayward object Zeb might let fly from his bunk.

Darkness greeted him. Darkness nestled in a tidy - but terribly empty - room. Another wave of agony rippled through the air, so visceral Ezra felt bile creep across his tongue. Fighting the urge to spit, and half certain the metallic taste in his mouth meant bit lip, Ezra stumbled into the room. No use letting Hera see him like this. No need to worry her with the truth she already suspected.

Just beyond the door, Ezra stumbled again and sat heavily to deny gravity the pleasure of introducing his face to the floor. A ragged breath escaped past the ever-present knot in his chest, a whisper of the hurricane of emotion hidden just beyond outward appearances. Ezra closed his eyes before the next wave came, folding his legs and laying his palms just so.

Taking a deep breath, Ezra focused with an intensity sure to impress his master. His next breath came easier as he reached within to find the thread which bound him to all other living things. Taking up the thread in imaginary hands, he traced it up and out into the Ghost and then, beyond into the void between stars. Softly he cast his awareness like a net, stretching farther than any simple training.

Practice makes perfect, they say, and Ezra had practiced this lesson every night since the radio tower fell. Granted, usually laying in his own bunk with Zeb snoring away in the bunk below.

Ezra experienced a flare of pride as he surpassed his personal best distance, which was quickly tamped down by another wave of pain not-his-own. The link wavered, but held as the pain reminded Ezra acutely of the purpose of this particular venture. Somewhere in his mind, Kanan whispered out of memory, "You need to lower you defenses. You can't reach out if you won't let anyone in."

"Why, Kanan?" Ezra whispered to himself, "When you let people in, they hurt you." The net wavered, but didn't fray. "But you did more than let us in, didn't you. That's why you stayed behind. To protect us...and now you are the one hurt." The question came again, in softer tones pleading for understanding, "Why, Kanan?"

Ezra's final defenses fell with the splash of a single tear.

Awareness came fleeting, impressions of colors half seen, sounds half heard. Here a child laughed, while half a world away another child cried. Here a cub played with its brother. There, another cub mourned its mother. All echoing through the endless flow of the Force, resounding in one grand chord that rang of life and death in equal measure. Through it all, Ezra searched, and sifted, and waited. An hour passed, or maybe a minute. One second, one minute, one day, a lifetime searching the fabric of space for a particular thread bearing a very specific signature.

When the pain came again, Ezra rode it like a tauntaun in a snow storm, clinging tight to the sensation as his traced its wavering thread through the blackness to a pin prick of wavering light at the furthest edge of his net and moving inexorably away. Despite a headache fit to tilt with world into vertigo whimsy and the deep concentration marring his brow, Ezra smiled.

"Kanan!" He called to the light. The light wavered as the agony ebbed to be replaced by a new cascading wave of torment. Ezra recognized the icy touch of fear slicking the light's pattern, recognized confusion and a touch of doubt. "Kanan, it's Ezra. I'm here, Kanan! You aren't alone!"

The light shifted away slightly, recoiling from the mental touch. Ezra shook his head and strained further, reached for the light as a new wave of pain unleashed its fury.

Ezra's breath hitched involuntarily. Tears snaked tracks from his closed eyes as he clung to the wavering light of his master's presence in the Force. He teetered on a precipice, dangerously close to his limits and a hairs breadth from discovery by the dimly sensed, darker presence torturing his master. Still, Ezra had gained something precious from this experience that he desperately wanted to share. "Kanan, if you can hear me, please…." Ezra hesitated, fishing for the words which bled away into obscurity almost before they formed thanks to the strain of contact. Finally, he settled for a simple platitude and an even simpler promise. "Please remember: 'There is no passion. There is Serenity. There is no chaos. There is only harmony.' Don't let him break you, Kanan! We are coming. I promise you. We will rescue you!"

The light dimmed, seeming to flicker as the distance between master and Padawan grew. Afraid to let the connection go, Ezra held on as long as he could.

Just before the ever thinning thread of the connection grew taunt, Kanan's voice echoed through the Force. "'There is no death. There is only the Force.' Be quick Padawan. May the Force be with you."

The tenuous connection snapped suddenly, coiling in upon itself with such intensity that Ezra's head snapped back as though struck by Zeb's stave. Ezra fell backwards, temporarily blinded and deafened to the world around him. For several long moments, he was aware only of the staccato of his own heart against his ribs and the rasp of his own, shaky breaths. As sensation slowly returned, Ezra found his arms wrapped protectively around his own shoulders, knees tucked tight against his chest as he cried silently.

"Fear is of the Dark Side," Ezra quietly chided himself, "And so is anger. You better just be unconscious Kanan, or I am going to have a hard time justifying what I am going to do to that bastard Inquisitor."


	2. Tower Jumping

Authors note: I am not so sure about this particular short story. I have tinkered with it for a week, but never got it to go the direction I wanted. Instead, well... Enjoy a very brief look into Ezra's past.

**Tower Jumping**

It happened in the space of time it took to blow out a candle. One moment, Ezra was contemplating his birthday wish while his parents sang the ancient, traditional song. The next, glass shattered, blaster bolts whined, and his mother screamed. So fast, Ezra did not have time to cry until long after his father shoved him through an open window into the arms of the Rodian, Tseebo.

"Ezra Bridger must be quiet," Tseebo whispered as he ran, tucking the seven year old a little tighter against his chest. To his credit, Ezra quieted his cries to the occasional hiccough. The accomplishment did little to alleviate the fears of the Rodian, who continued to glance over his shoulder every few steps.

"Tseebo told the Bridger family," he glanced over his shoulder again, "Tseebo warned them about the danger." Ezra whimpered. Tseebo slowed, turning into a darkened alley between shops. Swinging a loose grate loose from the wall back wall with one hand Tseebo clutched Ezra with the other. Kneeling Tseebo whispered, "Ezra Bridger must listen to Tseebo. Ezra must be quiet or Imperials will find him. Ezra will wait here for Tseebo to return. Does Ezra Bridger understand Tseebo?"

The boy shook with silent tears, but nodded. Tseebo lowered the grate into place and left the little human child hidden in darkness. There Ezra waited… and waited… and waited….

* * *

In the early years on the streets, Ezra learned to love those secret places behind grates, waiting patiently in shadowed alleys for the sun to set. He ventured forth only in the dark of night, gleaning leftovers from dumpsters and reveling in the rainy nights when fresh water fell free from the sky. At first, he begged scraps from the vendors, but soon learned that merchants cared less for the homeless than their coins. They even guarded their trash like misers, afraid the ragged urchins might drive away more reputable fair.

A few even brought down the wrath of the Storm Troopers, who roved the streets in twos and threes harassing anyone outside the social acceptable circles. More than one, Ezra found himself locked in an orphanage that doled out gruel worse than dumpster roughage, and teachers who taught little and watched less. Shadowed places did not offer safety in those so-called schools, and neither did the lit halls. No. The only safe place on Lothal lay here, in the darkened alleys of the streets.

Most children might not think so. Most adults might not think much of the alley mazes or hinged grates either. However, to Ezra, they became his home, his backyard, and his playpen all in one. No one on Lothal knew them better, ran them quicker, or climbed their hidden 'ladders' better than little Ezra Bridger. This fact often found Ezra sauntering, in his childish way, into untold number of troubles. Today, the trouble was aptly named Bruiser – a boy known to hit and take before asking permission for anything.

"I still say you are lying about being able to reach the top of the Tower in five minutes, but I have a case of nutri-bars I raided from the factories that says I can make it in ten." The boy, several years Ezra's senior and twice his width, jerked a thumb at a worn rucksack held against his back by an intricate tangle of braided wire. The straps wore through ages ago, probably far enough back to have seen use in a Jedi starfighter.

Ezra only smiled his best gap-toothed grin, "Your loss, Bruiser. Race starts at the count of ten."

A third kid, just old enough to count and thus selected as a neutral party, held up ten fingers and smiled, "Ten…nine…eight…seven…."

Bruiser pushed Ezra hard to the left and ran before the kid got to five, "Last kid to the top is a Loth-rat!"

Sighing like a person far older than ten, Ezra picked himself up from the ground and dusted the dirt from his pants. Twitching a kink from his neck, the young Bridger grinned at the even younger boy, "Good job on the count, kiddo. Now, watch while that punk Loth-rat eats my dust!"

With no more warning, Ezra jolted into a ground-covering sprint towards the nearest alley. In one grate, up a shaft, out another grate, two rooftops over in a somersaulting tumble, and the tower lay just ahead. Ezra spared a glance at the streets three stories below, noting Bruiser lumbering through a crowded street a block away. A cocky half-smile glinted in Ezra's eyes as he turned back towards the Tower, estimating the distance to a window he had left open in an earlier escapade into the weather station he and the local street kids had dubbed, the "Tower".

He estimated twelve feet of open air, maybe fifteen – none of the buildings in this district were built to fire code, something one of Ezra's many "teachers" had lamented during class. Bad for fires, his teacher said, but great for rooftop travel as Ezra knew well. Back tracking to the furthest edge of the roof, Ezra closed his eyes, took a deep breath in and held it as he reached inside his mind for something he had only recently discovered.

Like a thread sometimes, it was a feeling tying him to something he could not quite perceive; other times it was warmth and strength, like a super-dark cup of hot chocolate on a cold day mixed with the energy of the best holiday feast. Whenever he held it, he could walk farther, run faster, and jump higher. Ezra was not sure exactly what this power was, nestled in his mind like a fledgling poised to fly. All he knew was that this was a force to be reckoned with…and he hoped it would help him today like it had in the past.

It took a moment to find, coming quicker than his first instinctual grab made in a panic during a rather bad tussle with the local security patrol. That first jump had landed him on a hover-freighter moving away from danger. This jump, if he managed it on his hunger thinned legs, would land him some much needed nutrients. His growling belly protested the run, making concentration difficult, but he found the thread and coiled it tight in his chest like a spring. Carefully he shoved the feeling down past his rumbling stomach and into his legs where he held it tight. There! Clinging tightly to that sense of strength, Ezra he leaned into a break-neck run.

One step, two steps, three, four, five, six, and JUMP!

The power uncoiled a millisecond after Ezra's foot left the roof, propelling him into a high arc towards the looming Tower wall. Just passing below him, Ezra heard the startled exclamation of his competitor, "Holy Karabast on a frosted stick! You have a death wish kid!"

Ezra would have smirked, had he not overshot his destination just a smidgen. Well, make that a smudge, and a kersmidgen. A full story higher than he intended, Ezra scrabbled for a hand-hold and found purchase on a narrow window ledge. The open window lay below him, beckoning safety that may as well lay miles away. Dangling from the window for a perilous moment while he processed his next move, Ezra felt his hold on the power wane. "Oh no, no, no, no, no!" He muttered to the wall mere inches from his face. "Hold on Ezra. No wimping out now."

Taking several deep breaths and focusing on the next ledge up, Ezra bit his lip in thought. "I c_an't go up if I can't find the power. Can't hold on to the ledge and can't go down."_ He glanced down. "_Nope, not down."_ To the left was another narrow ledge, but that would leave him no better off than before. To the right, ah ha! A rain pipe! "Right it is," he ground out the words, bracing his feet against the wall and pouring the last dregs of his connection to the warm inner strength into reaching the pipe.

His fingers brushed the metal surface, sweat beading on his brow. He readjusted his grip on the ledge, shimmying closer and tried again. Almost, and whoa! His foot skidded and he was forced to plant both hands on the ledge and readjust his footing for a final time. He reached for the pipe a third time and prayed with every last fiber of his being that something would give before his fingers slipped.

He closed his eyes, metal groaned, and suddenly he was clinging to the pipe like a mountain climber clings to rope. Ezra laughed, giddy with a bizarre rush of emotion, but he knew he was not out of the woods yet. Suddenly glad of the superb grip proffered by dirty, sweaty hands, the orphan crawled up the 'hidden ladder' to the Tower's roof.

At the top, he hesitated, unsure if he had the strength to leverage his slim frame over the roof's edge. Then, a hand appeared from beyond the railing. "Are you going to take my hand or do I have to come save your sorry butt, stink-for-brains Bridger?"

It was Bruiser. He had made it to the top first. Ezra had lost the bet.

Heartbroken, Ezra took Bruiser's hand and made the final scramble over the ledge and past the guardrails. He muttered thank you out of habit, something his mother taught him from an early age, before plopping unceremoniously on his rear. He shook then, trembling with adrenaline and conflicting emotions. Through it all, hunger gnawed its way to his spine. What was he going to eat now? Had the dumpster droids ran yet? They must have, the sun was rising.

"Take it."

Ezra blinked. "What?"

"Take it, kid, before I change my mind."

Ezra looked up to find Bruiser's tattered rucksack right in front of his nose. Pulling back to look up, Ezra cocked an eyebrow and reached out before coherent though could form. "Why?"

Bruiser had already turned away and was heading toward the door back into the tower, but he paused mid-stride, "I ain't never seen a person so desperate for a nutri-bar as to pull a stunt like that. Take 'em, Bridger, and enjoy. I'll nick a few more off the next shipment."

Still shaking, Ezra nodded his thanks and leaned his head back against the railing. He closed his eyes, fighting to quiet the welling emotions.

A footstep scrapped the roofing and paused again before the door creaked open, "Maybe I can teach you a few things some time. You know…if you want? You got guts for a kid."

Ezra nodded again, not daring to open his eyes. The door clicked shut and the footsteps disappeared. Only then did Ezra cry away his fears.

* * *

Several years passed, and Ezra no longer hid in the shadows. He rather enjoyed heights now. Jumping no longer took focus. Instead, it required careful control so as not to repeat his erstwhile Tower adventure. His link to his inner force had grown in power and subtlety, giving him a sort of sixth sense he used in his daily life. This gave rise to other, more useful talents.

That merchant was lying. This one was telling the truth. Oh, look! That merchant is now light a few gizmos off his cart. Teaches him for lying!

Ezra traded a few of the gizmos further down the street for a piece of fresh fruit and small handful of credits. A shiver snaked its way down his back and Ezra paused, instinctively ducking behind a crate of pelts just before a patrol paraded around the corner. He did not recognize any of the helmet markings or the dark suit leading them, but better safe than in cuffs. He had outgrown the local orphanage a long while ago.

The patrol passed and Ezra stood, taking the last bite of his fruit before tossing the rest to another lost child lingering in the shadows of a nearby ally. He was just about to continue his circuit of the marketplace when the chill swept through him again. Twin tie fighters passed overhead, almost drowning the complaints of another merchant. "I'm just trying to sell a few yogans here."

"All trade must be registered with the Empire." A murmured complaint from the merchant and a much louder threat of treason against the Empire wafted in the air.

Sighing, Ezra swept his hair over his eyes and stepped in to run a little defense. A few words, a light hand, and a quick apology later and he had the means to send the pesky patrol packing. A click of the communicator and all was back to relative peace and quiet. "Stay on alert, this is a code red emergency," Ezra mimicked the nasal tones he heard on the lips of nearly every Imperial officer even as he helped the disheveled merchant to his feet.

The merchant offered a few words of thanks, but Ezra helped himself to a handful of yogan fruit. "Hey, a kid has to eat," he said with a smirk as he climbed to the nearest rooftop. Ezra moved quickly, aware gratitude only bought him so much time before the merchants' natural instinct to guard profits kicked in. Well, maybe not that particular merchant. He might lay low for a few days before he made any official complaints, but the other merchants would know a Loth-rat was running the area and would tighten their security within the hour. Of that much, Ezra felt sure.

So, he wandered the rooftops to watch the wayward patrol he had waylaid instead. "I almost feel bad for them," Ezra smirked, watching them get wrangled into offloading cargo from a freighter.

Suddenly, Ezra's felt something shift inside. Something tugged at his mind, the invisible thread he had become so deft at manipulating tightening suddenly in a specific direction. "That was weird. I-." The thread pulled taunt, vibrating with an almost audible hum in his ears. Ezra's stood, his head snapping in the direction the thread indicated so tenaciously and found himself staring at and pony-tail sporting man in a green flight suit. He was older than Ezra, with the trim physic of a space jockey. Armor encased one arm from shoulder to elbow and what appeared to be a blaster hung from his hip.

Okay. Not a space jockey. He was a space cowboy.

Ezra contemplated moving to a closer roof to trail the man when the thread shifted again. This time it pulled at Ezra's mind, tugging like a fish taking bait from a hook. The man froze after the first tug, his head swinging to the right. The second tug was stronger, and Ezra dropped to the ground just as the man turned around.

Was he manipulating the thread somehow? Ezra's mind raced even as he tried in vain to dampen the vibrations of his own touch on the thread. The man glanced around and continued walking after a moment's hesitation. Perhaps it was a coincidence?

No. Ezra knew better than that. In all the time he knew of this power, no one shared it with him. Not once had he come in contact with anyone who sensed this inner power, let alone manipulated it as he did. This experience was new…and exciting.

So, Ezra followed the man from the rooftops. Behind him he left a maze of alleyways, a highway of grated vents, and the heights of secret ladders and long forgotten towers.


	3. Harmonic Bonds

Author's Notes: Star Wars, as always, belongs to its respective owners. I just write these bits for fun. In this story's case, I am almost certain I read something akin to this 'ceremony' back when I was really into the Star Wars books. This was long ago, in a galaxy far, far away (back in the days before the Prequels were ever announced). Heck! It was before the special edition release. ... Just not as far back as the original release. I am not THAT old! However, I can't quite place where or if I actually read something like this before or if this was my head-cannon on the whole concept.

I am kind of wishing I had not passed my old books along to my little sibling (who did, however, read each one until they fell the rest of the way apart). I also kind of wish the prequels had not killed the books for me back then. I am old enough now to shrug off the slights the movies made against the book fans, but I wasn't back then. Kudos to the "Star Wars: Rebels" series for reminding me what I loved about the series as a whole... The mysticism of the Force, the camaraderie of the fandom, and the quirky sense of humor half veiled in the more sincere scenes. **_grins_** I will continue writing these one-shots as the inspiration strikes, and as I manage to find (or forcibly create) a free moment to write. Please continue to enjoy these stories as much as I enjoy writing them.

* * *

**Harmonic Bonds**

**(Alternative title: Plain Sight)**

Shimmering light filtered through crystalline fractals, scattering pale blue flecks around turret where Ezra chose to work. Above him, Lothal made its slow turn around its star while other stars glittered out beyond the planetary curve, while the Ghost made a lazy turn in its upper atmosphere. Below him, Kanan and the crew waited patiently while he finished several weeks of painstakingly detailed work.

With a sigh, Ezra lowered his hand, hiding the precious crystal cradled there from the light. "Well, at least I know this thing will be blue...if I can coax you to sing the proper tune." He settled the crystal back into its nest of cloths before turning his attention to the tools spread across his lap atop a layer of heat shielding material. "And to do that, your case needs a little more work."

A hollow tube laid there, delicate circuitry etched along its innards like gossamer lace. Into this small diameter, Ezra gazed for several long moments before leaning his head back against his chair with another sigh. "Kanan says this is all about sound; that when you sing the proper pitch I will know. Well…. I guess there is only one way to find out."

Letting his head fall forward, Ezra closed his eyes and reached out to the Force. Around him, details gained more clarity, light bending into halos of color and sound heightening until it nearly bled into light. This was the cusp of full meditation, the edge between full submersion in the grand chords of life and the waking world. Here, in this special state Kanan called "Harmony", the world sang in a million voices and one alone.

Every planet, every solar system, every trace of light filled with dancing dust motes vibrated in time with the single grand note that made insignificant atoms into the building blocks of all matter in creations. For a moment, Ezra basked in the sound, feeling a rush of joy at the complexity of harmonies converging just beyond the Ghost's window. Each person sang their own distinct voice; each plant tolled its own chord, and every speck of life within Ezra's burgeoning senses joined in one grand symphony.

Within the Ghost's metal skin, other voices sang as well, and Ezra smiled an inward smile for each in turn before narrowing his focus to the tiny bit of metal in his hands. Compared to the sounds of the universe around him, the advanced circuitry meant to house the sliver of kaiber crystal suddenly seemed idiotically simplistic. So much so, Ezra almost laughed, which would have shattered his concentration completely. He knew so much because laughter had ruined his efforts twice so far, and tears of utter joy had rained upon the first attempt…which Kanan promised to keep to himself as he himself admittedly cried when first shown the path to Harmony.

It was a Jedi rite of passage…or something like that.

Just so, Ezra tamped the feelings down quickly. The smile graced his face but a moment before his face fell passive and his hands gently laid the chamber at just the right angle. As his consciousness meshed with the music he felt more than heard, Ezra's hands rose of their own accord. He gestured like a conductor to his musicians, and tools drifted free from gravity to hover above the slender cylinder. Flame touched to solder and the symphony began.

This circuit crosses here. That gate must be canted a micron to the right. A touch of solder there, and a micro-gram shaved off in that corner. On and on, hour blending into hour as the afternoon wore into night. Slowly, the hilt took shape, a hand and a half with a simple pommel. Then the guard tapered to fit a slight hand with room to grow and…a trigger? Yes. That was indeed a trigger, hidden inside the guard. Ezra smiled.

The Force was full of surprises, it seemed, and each voice was indeed unique. Catching the concept more by instinct than purpose, Ezra nudged the gate another micron to the right and soldered a new path into the circuitry. Nearby, the crystal hummed its acquiescence. This housing would suit it well.

One last adjustment and a new sound entered Ezra's mind. Piercing and sweet, the crystal sang acceptance as it drifted slowly into place. A final wave of his hand, and the compartment spun closed, the crystal hidden by a half-twist of metal and tucked safely under the guard where stray blasters could not mar its careful calibrations.

Ezra's hands lowered as a newly minted light saber dropped gracefully into his lap.

The descent from harmonic convergence was slow and filled with a sense of loss that bordered on grief. When he finally opened his eyes, Ezra was not surprised to find his sight blurred by tears. Sniffling once, he wiped his sleeve across his face and took a deep breath. "Find your center Ezra," he repeated earlier instructions aloud, "Ground yourself before you fly too far." He did not finish as his master had: _"Some padawan drift too long and never return the same…if at all."_

A few deep breaths and Ezra shook himself awake, standing so suddenly the deck seemed to tilt akimbo. "Let's see what we ended up with."

He turned the saber hilt over in his hands, inspecting its mottled casing and leather wrapped grips. Sliding his hands in place, he tested the heft and balance – easily done despite the absence of an active blade. Light weighs next to nothing, after all. He fingered the activation switch for a moment before shaking his head. "I have no doubt you are going to sing like an angel, but let's just have Kanan give you a once over just to make sure." Ezra smirked, "Just wait until Kanan gets a load of you. No hiding in a box or hanging in pieces for this saber! I can where you right out in the open and no one will be the wiser. Just another custom blaster on another space jockey's hip."

With a contented sigh, Ezra ran his hand along the hilt a final time before letting his hand drop. Exhaustion began its slow creep up from his toes even as he knelt to open the turret hatch. Still, he could not help but grin. Kanan had been clever, hiding his saber as seemingly harmless bits of junk hanging from his belt, but this was something else entirely.

Some thought the first rule of survival on the streets was to remain hidden. In truth, it was better to hide in plain sight. Say the right words in the right way and walk with a lofty tilt to your hip and even a beggar could look like a wealthy merchant.

It was time to take a stand against the Empire, and this saber was Ezra's first self-made proclamation of war. The days of running were over. Now it was time for the Jedi to hide in plain sight.


	4. Master

**Authors Note:** As per the request of NightwingNinja17, here is the content of chapter one from Kanan's point of view. Before you continue, please be aware this is a very dark tale. I imagine what Kanan went through in the cells of the Imperial destroyer was much more graphic and horrifying than anything television networks would air. In keeping with the spirit of this being T for teen, I have not used any profanity and excluded the most gruesome details. There should still be enough here to fuel some imaginary terror though. If anyone thinks the rating on this needs to be changed, please let me know.

**Master**

Kanan tensed as the smell hit him right before the shock, super charged air reminiscent of singed wiring and overheated metal. It was the smell of an electrical discharge building in the cruel machine to his left. A millisecond latter, the bolt arced through the air to the nearest grounding agent, the metal band secured tightly around his midsection. It raced along the metal, conducted by special leads in the table across his extremities from fingers to toes. While the table was designed to cipher all but a certain level of amperes away from vital organs, a "gift" of the Imperial interrogation squads, a groan still escaped past Kanan's clinched teeth.

It lasted a few seconds, the space of a single held breath, before a flipped switch cut the current off at its source.

"Do you know where the other rebels are?"

The words came from Kanan's left and he glared his best glare at the tattooed questioner, "I don't know, and I wouldn't tell you if I did!"

The Inquisitor leaned in and sighed, the sound rasping against Kanan's ear, "Have it your way. You will talk, eventually. They always do."

Once again, the ionic ozone of the electrical charge came a second before the raw energy jumped the gap between machinery and restraints. This time, Kanan screamed.

* * *

Visions flowed on the verge of waking, vague images of friends recognizable only in outline through smoke, fire, and pain. Low buildings built from discarded storage crates and mud smoldered, still hot from a recent fire. Where was this place? Perhaps it was an out-lying village on Lothal? Maybe…

Debris fell nearby, drawing Kanan's gaze to a purple furred foot sticking out from underneath a pile of rubble at a gut twisting angle. "Zeb!"

Sprinting the short distance, Kanan dropped to his knees. Plunging his hands into the dirt, he dug furiously at the rubble, earning scratches and losing finger nails in his haste to help the fallen Lasat. However, no matter how quickly or carefully he dug, he never reached farther than Zeb's knee before the rubble shifted to bury his friend once again. In desperation, Kanan reached out through the force, seeking to move the mass of earth by more mystic means and…-.

"Please," Ezra's voice rasped from somewhere to his left, "Please help me."

Kanan spun on his heel and gasped. There stood Ezra, leaning heavily against the wall of a burned out shell. His light saber dangled in a precariously loose grip in one hand, the other hand clutched at his chest, where red slowly blossomed against orange. "The Inquisitor-," Ezra began, staggering with a sharp cry.

"Ezra! I'll be right there, just let me help Zeb."

A painful, rasping sob broke from the wounded teen, "He's dead! They shot him from behind while he defended me."

"No. They might have stunned him, Zeb wouldn't – he couldn't be -." Kanan hesitated, one hand grasping the Lasat's ankle, and seeking out the gap between tendon and bone where the anterior arteries nestled just below the skin. He closed his eyes briefly and prayed, but his prayers went unanswered. The usually warm Lasat was already cold to the touch.

A deep breath centered Kanan, emotions dammed temporarily behind years of discipline. He would mourn later. For now, he needed to tend to Ezra. Kanan opened his eyes and stood.

More debris fell, the wall Ezra leaned against crumbled inward and he fell with a broken gasp. Kanan ran for the second time since coming to in this forsaken place. Reaching Ezra's side he gently tuned the boy onto his back. Ezra's chest heaved at the motion, a length of wood lodged there moved with the breath, which caught in the boy's throat for a terrifying second before shuddering back out. "M-master, the Inquisitor. I couldn't… Wasn't bleeding until…I fell on it… I couldn't find anyone else….but Zeb, he-." Ezra coughed a froth of red rising on his lips.

"Shhh, Ezra. Don't move." Kanan took pressed his fingers to Ezra's neck and let his eyes wander, taking in the sight of his padawan from the dirt crusted boots to his dark tussled hair before letting his eyes lock momentarily on the length of wood protruding so grotesquely from his chest. It rose and fell with every shuddering breath, quivering in time with the faltering pulse beneath Kanan's fingers. Mouth set in a grim line, Kanan took a shuddering breath of his own before meeting eyes of startling blue. "Ezra, I think-," the words caught in Kanan's throat and he swallowed heavily, "It is too close to your heart. If I pulled this out you would…. You'll still…."

Tears welled in those blue eyes and Kanan felt his own heart lurch in his chest. "Not stupid, Master… I know… Just need you to find the others…. Find them…before…the Inquisitor. Please Master, save them!"

The words were broken by rending gasps, the broken stave practically vibrating as the failing heart sped its pace in a desperate bid to circulate enough blood to sustain life. Kanan lowered his head to rest a cheek on Ezra's head, and might have cried then, but something nagged at his mind and gave him pause. Even as he hugged his padawan close, he thought, "_Since when do you call me Master?_"

"Your mother on Coruscant will miss you, Ezra Hasenpfeffer," Kanan whispered into the boy's hair, "You would have made a fine Jedi."

In his arms, the trembling form relaxed briefly, "You think… She will? And dad?"

Kanan went cold as doused steel, extricating his arm from the thing that dared take his Padawan's form. "He died in the war, didn't he?" Kanan said, looking the imposter straight in the eye.

"Of course he did! M-must have slipped…m-my mind, what with… this thing… in … my … chest."

A deep, bone weary sigh escaped Kanan, and he pinched the bridge of his nose as he slowly bottled away his emotions. "Nothing to be done about that now, kid save meet a just end." With a deliberate care, so as not to tip his tormentor that the game was up, Kanan gathered Not-Ezra in his arms for a final embrace. He reached with the Force as he did so, a nearly imperceptible sounding meant to resonate like to like. Nothing returned.

No pulsing light of flesh and bone, or steadying presence of earth and stone. Either this was a dreadfully vivid dream, or a horrific form of interrogation Kanan had only heard about in cloistered rooms whispered in hushed tones to terrify youngllings.

The imposter's breath whispered in his ear, a rasping, guttural rake, "Master, I am afraid."

"_There it is again. Master! Ha! I am master of nothing and to no one."_ Kanan lowered the form to the ground, once more pressing his fingers to its neck. He closed his eyes, a frown creasing his features and a tear trailing down his cheek despite the deception. Whatever this was, the thing still wore Ezra's features. "I know, youngling. It will be over soon."

Tenderly, Kanan gripped the length of wood in his hand, flinching as the boy – thing – gasped and the vibration stuttered violently. "_Kalabast! I swear I am going to end that lousy, bantha spitting coward!" _Bracing his other hand against the boy's shoulder, he met the terrified blue eyes for the last time. "May the Force be with you, always."

With a quick jerk, Kanan pulled the broken shaft free with a sickening, sucking sound and – he woke up to feet screaming numb agony from bearing his weight for untold hours. The restrains kept him upright, but did little to alleviate the strain of constant standing. Letting out a frustrated cry, Kanan rested his head against the hard surface behind him and yelled, "You'll have to do better than that, you bastard!"

A short time later, electricity arced again, sending him to another, darker nightmare.

* * *

The days wore on, fading from one terrifying, anguish inducing experience to another. As time wore on, Kanan came to realize the Empire did not have a firm description of his friends, save Ezra whom they held in their cells once upon a time. They had the boy down fairly well, save they never quite pegged the way he talked, and they almost always made some mistake or referred to false information fed to them in previous sessions.

While one might think one of the few remaining Lasats memoriable, Zeb never made a full appearance. His face remained hidden or appeared scared, maimed, or otherwise mutilated. Often, Zeb lingered in the dreams as a disembodied voice or, on disturbing occasions, strewn about in bloody pieces. As to the other members of the crew, Sabine's armor popped up in random places, spattered in gore instead of paint. She often made her appearances sporting a figure with entirely wrong curves or with an attitude unbefitting the Mandalorian. Kanan almost laughed on a few occasions, wondering if the Storm Troopers got out much. Either way, Sabine's copy-cat was always summarily dismissed.

The tormentors quickly quit using those two as a base as Kanan began systematically feeding them conflicting stories, easily debunked with known facts.

The rare nightmares where Hera appeared were, for Kanan, even more obvious even though his tormentors did a fair job impersonating her appearance. Either she spoke with the wrong nuance, cocked her head the wrong way, or plain failed to show enough of her characteristic wit. Either way, he always knew at a glance when they played her card…but he played along anyway. She became his secret oasis in an otherwise abysmal desert of torture. Yet, if Hera was his saving grace, Ezra was his undoing.

As the days wore on, session after gut rending session, the ways they came up with to kill his padawan became more and more sinister. A blaster bolt to the head once, ran through with a light saber another time, trampled by in Imperial walker, drowned in the polluted seas of Coruscant, and poisoned by unknown means on an unnamed moon. Each time, Kanan ended the session as quickly as he could stomach. Twice, Kanan threw himself into harm's way instead of further harming the shadow that wore Ezra's face. Most times he awoke to silent tears; bearing anguish so deep he expected lasting scars to his psyche.

On rare occasions, Kanan's wardens deemed him dangerously exhausted or otherwise too far gone to offer any useful information. In one of these precious moments, Kanan bowed his head in silent meditation. While he was uncertain why the Empire did not deaden his Force sense through drugs or another means (his theory involved the selfsame nightmares that plagued him), he reveled in the relative freedom offered in meditation. On this rare occasion, he managed to maintain the trance even when the electricity set his nerves ablaze.

So it was, in the throes of pain and seeking release the only way he could, Kanan stumbled upon something familiar…a force signature that pulsed with a familiar light. Once, he might have smiled. Now, he pulled away, instinctively hiding from more emotional trauma. The signature could not be his. It simply could not. The padawan was newly trained and undisciplined. No matter how Kanan wrapped he head around it, the signature he felt must be another mental trap. Yet, even as he pulled away, the signature latched on like kitten tackling a string.

"Kanan! Kanan, I'm here!" His padawan's voice. Those bastards finally got the inflection just right.

Electricity arced again and Kanan screamed his throat raw, his chest tight. "Not real," Kanan muttered, "None of this is real. Leave me alone. Just leave me alone!"

The signature did not fade, though the presence behind it wavered as though unsure. The ethereal voice came again, filled with a quiet determination, "Kannan, if you can hear me, please….. Please remember: 'There is no chaos. There is only harmony.' Don't let him break you, Kannan! We are coming. I promise you. We will rescue you!"

Kanan's breath faltered as he found his heart suddenly in his throat, _"Master. He didn't call me Master."_ Tears welled unbidden as the Jedi sagged against his restraints. The arching power stopped for a few blessed minutes. "_They never quoted Jedi teaching to me either. Not once. Not even in false training sessions. It must be-."_

"Ezra," Kanan sobbed, not caring what Imperial toady saw his tears.

For a short few moments of bliss, the tenuous connection held: Master and Padawan straining to reach across the vast emptiness between the stars. Just before the ever thinning thread of the connection snapped, the electrical torment started again. Clinging to the thread like a drowning man to a life line, Kannan mentally yelled across the distance, "_'There is no death. There is only the Force.' Be quick Padawan. May the Force be with you."_

When the connection snapped with all the voracious power of a tension cable under pressure, Kanan grounded as much of a whiplash of power as his battered body could manage. Through a stroke of mercy, it sent him into a sleep so deep that for the next few days, Kanan slept peacefully.

The medics said it was a comma and suggested less liberal use of "electro therapy" in future sessions. Only one person suspected anything different, and he spent that night watching the Jedi from a chair placed strategically in the shadows of Kanan's cell. Tapping dark gloved fingers before eyes of molten gold, the Inquisitor smiled his crocodile smile, "Come quickly padawan. Come die beside your beloved master."

* * *

**Author's Postscript:** If anyone has any other ideas they want to see done, let me know and I will see what I can do. No promises though. Life is going to be very busy for the next month and the only time I will have to write will be rather late at night, or in moments stolen during lunch at work. I do admit it is fun to take the proverbial pen to paper again after so many years. I feel like I have wandered a desert for an age and just stumbled upon a lush oasis which I do not wish to leave again.

Here's to a few happier stories in the future though. While these scenes are intriguing to write, it turns my stomach on occasion. Maybe I will tackle some happier adventures on the Ghost next. ... Let's see what hits the page, shall we?


	5. Fear

**Author's Note:** This is the final installment of what I am simply going to refer to as the "Prison Arc". This dark stuff is horrible depressing to write. So much so, I didn't want to stop writing tonight until I got to a happy ending. As such: be warned! There are HUGE SPOILERS for the "Fires Across the Galaxy" episode. Also, a ton of the dialogue at the end of this is straight from that same episode, and as such it belongs to its respective owners. There is a tad more than lifted dialogue than I am comfortable with, but I can't think of a way to move this chapter along smoothly without it.

As always, I make no income from this. I just really enjoy writing. In this case, I wrote this chunk of the episode out (and added my extra bits) specifically because people requested my take on the characters' inner thoughts during these events. With that said, PrincessCadence2012 and random Guest (the second edition), this is for you guys.

**Fear**

The light saber hummed in dark gloved hands, passing lazily through the air as the Inquisitor stared at a point beyond its reach. "You were right to be afraid. You couldn't save your master then, and you can't save your followers now," he finished his latest soliloquy, diplomacy his latest tactic in loosening the Jedi's tongue. When his prisoner remained silent, the Inquisitor turned off the saber with a dejected sigh. "You are a stubborn fool, Jedi," the Inquisitor hissed, his finger hovering over a pitch black switch. The Jedi, Kanan, grimaced as his captor traced around the switch in a lazy circle. A smile tugged the Inquisitor's lips, relishing the brief display of fear from his prisoner. Feigning disinterest, the Dark Jedi apprentice stroked his chin, tapping the same finger idly against thin lips. "You know, I am feeling generous today. Give me one piece of information…anything you choose. Give me a name, a place, the call number of a ship. Anything your heart desires, Jedi, and – provided I find your remarks useful – I will end our little session early."

The Kanan's eyebrows drew and his lips drew back from his teeth in a fierce scowl, "I somehow doubt your integrity." The words sounded strained to the Inquisitor's ears, laced with pain and…fear? Ah! Such a deliciously dark emotion fear was, and how useful a tool.

Casually laying a hand on the control panel, near the black switch, the Inquisitor's smile grew as the Jedi tensed in his restraints. "Do not dismiss my offer so lightly, Jedi. Even now, the fleet draws closer to our destination. Soon enough, you will face the prison cells on Mustafar. Speak now, and I will end your suffering before we reach the planet."

An incredulous look fell upon the Jedi's features and he turned his head nearly imperceptibly towards his captor, "And risk angering your Imperial masters?"

Dropping his hand from the console with a smile revealing sharp, yellowed teeth, the Inquisitor turned. His other hand seemingly appeared from nowhere, striking like a snake at Kanan's neck. Thin fingers curled inwards, their thinness belying an ineffable strength. Kanan gasped, his heart racing as air suddenly became a premium commodity, body going rigid against his restraints as his head snapped back in an instinctive bid to lessen the pressure against his windpipe. The Inquisitor maintained his grip, eyes of molten gold boring into eyes of spring green.

As the contest of wills wore into a second minute, on its way to a third, the green eyes began to lose focus. Reflexes lagged and taunt muscles loosened as oxygen deprivation took its toll. The Inquisitor held tight for a few seconds longer, enjoying the feeling as the pulse beneath his grasping fingers slowed in perceptible increments. Then, just as Kanan's head began to lull against his hand, the Inquisitor released his deadly grip and slapped the Jedi hard.

Kanan gasped, a breath belabored only by the solid band holding him upright.

The Inquisitor waited as the Jedi sucked in several such breaths, color slowly returning to extremities that had begun to blue. When green eyes once again met eyes of gold, the Inquisitor smiled his coldest smile. "Life is a frail thread, Jedi, and I am a sharpened blade. Accidents happen during interrogation. Remember that."

Turning on his heel, the Inquisitor sauntered out the door, leaving Kanan alone to ponder the offer of release.

* * *

In the end, meditation is the release Kanan sought. Delving deep inside to shore up defenses the Inquisitor had undoubtedly shaken, before turning his senses outward in a fool's errand – searching for his distant Padawan. Ever since his contact with Ezra what seemed an eternity ago, Kanan kindled a secret fire of hope for a rescue.

True, time apparently ran in short supply with no telling how close the fleet truly was to Mustafar. Kanan felt sure setting foot on that particular planet spelled his doom. No Jedi escaped those fabled prisons. Not alive, anyway. Pushing the thought away with a determination born of three parts stubborn tenacity and one part desperation, Kanan focused solely on reaching up and out.

Just as he had taught Ezra, he constructed a fine meshed net of awareness, designed to pass like a feather across waking perception. Carefully, he created holes where he knew the Inquisitor sat, eating in the mess hall. Multiple attempts at searching gave Kanan a keen sense of the Inquisitor's current schedule and, this time, he wanted to avoid detection. Finishing the net in record time, Kanan gave the net a firm cast out in all directions, preparing mentally for the long process of searching signature by signature for the light the represented his Padawan.

The net was scarcely out a minute when Kanan's eyes shot open in surprise. Not a parsec beyond the star destroyer's hull, his net met with a particular kind of resistance that meant only one thing: a net incoming from the other direction. Kanan dropped his net and grabbed onto the other, tracing it backwards even as Ezra traced the unexpected contact forwards. The met in the middle, as it were, both equally surprised to find the other so easily.

Then, as quickly as the contact came open, it closed from Ezra's end. Kanan frowned, uncertain what had happened. Carefully, he examined the ends of the thread Ezra dropped so suddenly, teasing out bits of emotion in the process. Worry gave way to surprise, and surprise into a burst of sheer delight. Not surprising to the Jedi given how the last contact ended, filled with pain and a knurly whiplash of power Ezra surely realized struck Kanan hardest. Yet, overlaying the length of thread Ezra so recently held was another feeling...a sense of…. What? Was that sensation of forward motion anticipation? Determination? … And why was Ezra so close to the ship?

A puzzle piece clicked and Kanan smiled. _"They're here."_

His tiny fire of hope grew into an inferno. Unfortunately, such inferno must have made waves in the Force because a certain Pu'uan returned to investigate. ""So, have you reached a decision then, Jedi?"

Kanan stifled a laugh threatening to bubble up from his gut and plastered his best smirk on his face, "Not at all, Inquisitor. I just realized your face looks like this ugly pair of pants my mother made me wear to feast days is all. I was just wondering if those lines might look better if I spilled a little ink on them too."

The Inquisitor snarled, jabbing the black switch with unabashed zeal.

When the electricity came, Kanan bore them in a silence born of patient anticipation. One round of electrical shocks came and went. Two rounds and then three. The Inquisitor sighed, "No screams for me, Jedi? Either you have accepted your fate completely or -."

Realization dawned on the Inquisitor's face even as the ship began to shake and the power shifted to auxiliary sources, calling an end to the electrical torment. Kanan let his head fall back against the vertical table, mentally alert but physically spent. "They're here," the Inquisitor practically purred, "How predictable."

Without another word, the Dark Jedi apprentice sprinted through the cell door and out into the ship. New prey required his attention elsewhere. Behind him, Kanan smiled, _"Predictable? So says the one who left the door unlocked. I predict a solid thrashing if you cross my path, Inquisitor."_

The next few moments passed in a blink for Kanan. Either his team moved that quickly, or he simply fell unconscious. Either way, the next thing Kanan knew the cell door swished open to reveal a cocky figure in orange: his Padawan. Ezra sauntered in, "Turns out you taught me pretty well."

Kanan opened his eyes and shook his head slightly, "You shouldn't have come here, but I am glad you did."

"You would have done the same for me. In fact, you have." Ezra pressed a button, releasing Kanan from his confinement…and reintroducing him to the harsh mistress of gravity. Kanan's long stint of standing coupled with repeated shocks over the span of his captivity left his nerves screaming sheer agony. Just so, his legs refused to bear his full weight.

Ezra caught him as gravity took hold, glancing once at Kanan in worry as he escorted him up the steps and out into the corridor of the ship.

* * *

A short time later, on route to the hanger where the crew of the Ghost waited, light sabers hummed to life. Kanan drew deeply on the Force to supplement his own diminished reserves, enmeshing himself so deeply in its flow he vaguely felt his Padawan's astonishment as he ran forward. _"I will have to teach him this trick…after I sleep the effects of it off later,"_ Kanan thought, just before he feinted, switch Ezra's weapon from saber to blaster and back again in the blink of an eye.

The Inquisitor blocked the incoming blaster fire, as Kanan expected. If the move had worked against one Force shrouded for battle, he would have been truly surprised. So, Kanan followed through, stepping under the Inquisitor's guard and out again. Slashing as he moved, he pushed the Dark Jedi back on the defensive before their blades locked forcing him to dodge backwards himself. Blasting at the Inquisitor from far away, switching back to the saber up close, Kanan ran. He stayed in constant motion and offered the smallest target possible. Then, the Inquisitor jumped.

Up and over he flew, past the reach of Kanan's borrowed saber as he placed himself squarely between the Jedi and his Padawan. Fear welled for a moment, countless scenes of death repeating in the Jedi's mind from his long torment. He paused only a moment, then flicked his saber in challenge, desperate to keep the Pu'uan's attention away from his apprentice. The volley began anew, lasting only a moment before Kanan found himself hard pressed to break a potentially fatal deadlock, his enemy's saber held inches from his neck by strength alone.

Ezra took advantage of the distraction, making a move of his own, which Kanan both applauded and bemoaned: he stole Kanan's saber from the Inquisitor's belt and thumbed it active.

Now, the Inquisitor fought on both sides. "At last, a fight that might be worthy of my time," the Inquisitor crooned. The dual blade of the Inquisitor's blade came active with a hiss as both Jedi and Padawan converged in a storm of whirling blades.

The Inquisitor forced Ezra back a step, focused briefly on Kanan, stepped back to force Ezra to block again. Back and forth, step for step, a dance of deadly symmetry. It did not take long for the Inquisitor to realize the hesitance in Ezra's moves, mimicry of grace the boy was not yet suited to wear. His stance was too narrow, his arms too stiff. How best to focus on the more competent opponent first?

Pushing Kanan on the defensive, the Dark Jedi caught Kanan's saber on his own blade and spun to face the Padawan, shoving Ezra with the Force hard enough to send him sprawling. Kanan retaliated, redoubling his efforts, ducking and dodging to buy time for Ezra to regain his feet until the Inquisitor kicked him, then used the Force to push him away as well. _"Perhaps I should deal with the whelp first. One never fairs well with an enemy at his back."_

With nary a second thought, the Inquisitor spun on his heel and threw his saber in a whirling arc towards the vulnerable Padawan. Having just regained his feet, Ezra saw the blade coming and brought his saber up to guard, but it was a fraction of a second too late. The incoming saber deflected from its course, but not far enough. Coupled with its impact and an overbalance in his swing, Ezra lost his footing and tumbled from the catwalk with a wordless cry.

"No!" The cry tore from Kanan's throat, his hand coming up to reach for the boy so far from his grasp.

The Inquisitor smiled and watched as Kanan crawled to the catwalk's edge, peering at the deck a hundred feet below. "_Do you see you precious Padawan down there Jedi, bleeding his life away? You will follow him soon, I promise."_

Meanwhile, Kanan reeled. Throughout the fight, he carefully held on to Ezra's presence in the Force. While this started as a way to keep his sense of direction centered as he danced the dance of dodge and parry across the catwalk, it became a source of strength as well. Ezra's life rang across the tides of the Force, giving Kanan assurance and strength. Ezra was here. This was really happening. This was not just another nightmare.

Yet, as Ezra tumbled from the catwalk, Kanan felt as though reality upended, temporarily dumping him back into those gruesome nightmares. Quick as thought, he cast a mental net beyond the catwalk and found…nothing. Ezra's resounding note had fallen silent. Was he unconscious? Kanan spent an extra, anxious moment scanning the ground below and saw nothing but cargo containers. If Ezra had fallen in one of those, he would not even see a splash of red to betray the boy's location.

Kanan closed his eyes to thought and took a deep breath, bottling his emotions into a compact bundle. Slowly, he stood to face the Inquisitor who still stood grinning like a cat who saw a mouse in a trap. Kanan should have felt something then, anger, hatred, or even sorrow. Instead, he felt an empty void where Ezra's presence once resided, into which the Force quickly rushed. "That was a mistake," he growled to the smiling idiot planted so firmly in his way.

"Why?" The Inquisitor crowed, "Because you have no one left to die for you?"

"No. Because I have nothing left to fear."

Kanan reached out with the Force, snatching his light saber from the catwalk where Ezra dropped it. Sabers of twined blue hummed to life in his hands, and the battle began anew.

* * *

The Inquisitor stumbled back, one step after another. Each attack he launched against the Jedi met with nothing but air as the insufferable man slipped and slid out of reach. His speed bordered on precognition, and for the first time in years the Inquisitor felt fear of a Jedi.

In his long years of service to the Empire, he had hunted Jedi across the galaxy, rooting them out of every dive and hole they chose to nest in. He made his name in the Empire by deducing his quarry's next step after a short conversation or a few observations. When you wanted a Jedi found or needed to break a stubborn prisoner, you called the Inquisitor who always got the desired results. He specialized in dragging answers from his victims, often demolishing entire cells of resistance upon the capture of a single Jedi. Yet this one, this flaming brand held so close to his skin, threatened to turn his vaunted name to ashes. Worse, the smoke of such a brand could not help but draw the notice of someone much worse than the apprentice…his Master.

Just so, the Inquisitor went on the attack as often as he was able, slashing and stabbing with intent to strike the menacing Jedi down…but the man kept coming! The Inquisitor stepped behind a ring of consoles, hoping to buy some distance and a moment to think. The Jedi followed, cutting through the console in his haste to reach the frightened Inquisitor. The Jedi fired at him using that bastardized saber, and the Inquisitor was forced to leap for his life. Unfortunately, the somersault ended in precarious footing at the furthest edge of the catwalk.

"You were right," the Jedi said as he advanced, "I was a coward." The Inquisitor sneered. The Jedi took another step forward, trapping him on the edge. "But now I know there is something far stronger than fear. Far stronger. The Force."

Only one escape remained possible, a risky chance given this particular prey's abilities, but the Inquisitor took his last and best chance. Grasping the specialized hilt of his double saber, he flicked a hidden switch. In an instant, the blades began circling the hilt in greater and greater speeds. The Jedi did not have a corner on the custom weapon department, after all. The Jedi did not even flinch.

"Let me show you how strong it is," he continued his speech, calmly stabbing his twin sabers in the center of the whirling wall of red, where the Dark Jedi's hilt joined. With a flick of the Jedi's wrist, the hilt separated and the whirling red blades fell, as did the Inquisitor who grabbed frantically at the edge. Far below, the sabers struck a plasma generator, reacting with the energy there to cause an instant ball of fire.

The Jedi loomed above him now, blue blades crossed at the Inquisitor's neck to keep him from pulling himself up. The Inquisitor felt a laugh brewing, but fear gobbled it up and replaced it with a cackle which rose from the flames to taunt him: the insane laughter of the Emperor on his distant throne. Behind that, yet another sound seemingly carried through the Force to send shivers down his spine. A sound promising torment far worse than any nightmare he unleashed on the Jedi. After all, all apprentices learn their craft from one greater than they.

True fear clutch the Inquisitor's heart, turning the very marrow of his bones to ice. "You have no idea what you've unleashed here today." The Jedi turned off his sabers, listening to what the Inquisitor had to say. The final statement gave him pause. "There are some things far more frightening than death."

With no more warning, the Inquisitor let go of the platform and the flames swallowed him whole.

* * *

Time slipped Kanan's grasp as he stared into the flames. The intense heat rising up to the colder climbs of the large hanger sparked random spurts of ball lightening. He watched these and pondered the Inquisitor's last words, wondering what terror pushed the Dark Jedi to his suicidal course. True, Kanan would not have let him back onto the platform. Not after what he had done to…to Ezra.

A lump formed his Kanan's throat a mile larger than he could swallow, and Kanan fought to dampen his emotions for just a little longer. Ezra might be gone, but Hera and the rest of the crew still needed him. He needed to escape this flaming maelstrom. Focusing instantly on this monumental task, Kanan failed to hear the footsteps approaching him, or to hear his name called repeatedly in a gently insistent voice.

"Hey, Kanan," the voice paused, "Kanan?"

Slowly Kanan rose and turned, sure his senses deceived him. He reached out through the Force as he moved, sending a silent question, _"Ezra?"_

Reassurance flooded through the Force in reply as Ezra lowered every defense for Kanan's careful inspection. The Padawan was not sure what had been done while Kanan was captive, but the waves of emotional hurt roiling off him needed soothing and trust was all he had to offer. The exchange lasted only a moment, but in the end Kanan smiled, "I thought I had lost you."

"I know the feeling," was the sincere reply, "Now, let's go home."


End file.
